


Heaven For A Sinner Like Me

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Christmas, M/M, Power Exchange, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Top!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ganked some witches, they're hyped up on adrenaline, and Sam still has residual demon blood pumping through his veins. Dean gets to feel it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven For A Sinner Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn-j2-xmas exchange, for the lovely runedgirl (LJ). She asked for some Sam with powers, d/s dynamics, and a toppy Sam. I hope I delivered. Title from "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine. Warning for a minor instance of gunplay and demon blood references.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Dean let out a low whistle once the door closed behind him, a grin plastered to his face. “Witches, man, I’m never gonna get tired of gankin’ ‘em.”  
  
“Think you have a little too much fun with the killing, Dean,” Sam said, but his voice was light and Dean could see the shine of a smile dancing across his face and lighting up his eyes.  
  
“Might as well love what you do.”  
  
Dean took the hum Sam let out as agreement as he crossed the room to their matchbox bathroom. Usually killing witches meant less mess, but for whatever reason Dean’s shirt and hands were crusted with fast-drying blood. He ditched the white-red mess of that managed to pass through  _three shirts_  onto the bathroom floor and scrubbed at his hands until they were a soft pink instead, clean.  
  
When he looked up into the mirror Sam was standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile on his face. Calm. That was the word Dean’s mind supplied. His brother looked calm, and Dean soaked that in because their lives were never calm for very long. One nice moment before everything goes to hell again. Yeah, he was a pessimist. He was beginning to embrace the label.  
  
When Sam caught his eye, the smile turned into something of a smirk and he stalked the three steps it took to reach Dean across the linoleum floor. His hands settled on Dean’s bare hips, his mouth breathing out warmth across his neck. Now Dean had the smile, but it had less to do with being calm.  
  
“And you say you don’t enjoy killing,” Dean said to the reflection of Sam.  
  
Sam’s head lowered and he sucked a kiss into the soft skin of Dean’s shoulder, moving along the bone with short, harsh bites that followed with soft, feather-light kisses. Dean twisted around until he could face Sam, urging his brother’s mouth against his and twining his hands into Sam’s hair. He needed a haircut, always did, but the length proved good leverage when Sam shoved Dean up against the sink, the cold porcelain digging into his lower back. Sam just moved closer, cutting off any remaining space between them.  
  
He could already feel how hard Sam was, the jut of his cock pushing through two layers of denim to slide against Dean’s hip. Dean rutted against him, making sure to hit the spot just there that made Sam growl and kiss him harder, his teeth biting onto Dean’s lower lip. It was enough to make Dean want more, and he had a litany of images flowing through his brain; Sam fucking him hard, of bruises on his hips, of bites on his neck.  
  
But when Dean attempted to move again, to get them out of the bathroom and onto the bed, it was like a bucket of water had been dropped down his back. When his mind finally caught up with his freezing body he jerked away from Sam, or at least tried to. It took two tries before his back slammed into the sink again and he could move his limbs.  
  
“You — you weren’t—” Dean took in all of Sam, trying to find the answers somewhere. Sam had been holding him, but…not. Keeping Dean’s body pinned while his hands stayed set on Dean’s jaw. No way he could stop Dean from moving that much.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Dean didn’t even register his name. His mind just kept spinning. Sam had been  _holding him down._  He hadn’t even touched his arms.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Sam gripped his arm, digging his fingertips in. He only let go when Dean ripped away again, and he didn’t even know why he was pulling back. This was Sam — this was his brother — the little pain-in-the-ass kid Dean had patched up more times than he cared to remember. But he was scared. He wouldn’t admit it, but Sam was freaking him the fuck out. Nobody could do that, not without…  
  
When it clicked, Dean shivered. “You’re drinking it again, aren’t you?”  
  
Sam’s eyes flashed in confused, and Dean knew that Sam had no idea what he was talking about.  
  
“You had me pinned with your mind.” Dean’s voice was oddly quiet, whispering for no reason at all. “I’ve only seen you do that when you…” He couldn’t say it, the thought alone made him feel physically sick.  
  
Dean’s words seemed to make Sam get with the program, and his face fell. “Demon blood? You think I’m using—?”  
  
Dean refused to answer, working instead to keep his breathing steady and his stomach settled. Just the thought of Sam drinking the blood again— Sam’s mouth smeared in red, eyes wild, breath out of sync — made Dean want to run. Made him want to get away from here. Far away from his brother.  
  
So he tried to move, but Sam’s hand was back on his arm, holding. This time he didn’t let up even when Dean attempted to pull away.  
  
“I promise,” Sam said slowly, gently, eyes wide and pleading. Dean stopped pulling. Stopped moving. “I promise. I…I think it’s just the leftover stuff. Residual, you know?”  
  
Dean couldn’t think of anything to say. He stayed still.  
  
“I don’t want it anymore, I’m not drinking it anymore. It’s just there. But it’s almost gone. Everyday there’s less of it.”  
  
Dean searched his face, every single inch. He searched his eyes, every fleck of brown and green that swirled and merged to make the most memorable color in Dean’s life. They were nothing like his mental image, nothing evil or wrong in them. They were Sam’s. And right now they were pleading. Pleading for Dean to understand, to believe him.  
  
He could never say no to Sam.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said. Whispered, really, if it could even count as that. “Okay, Sammy, I believe you.”  
  
There was a crack in Sam’s emotions and he released the vice-like grip he had on Dean’s arm, rubbing his fingers over the bruise marks that would soon pop up, trailing up to Dean’s cheek and cupping his face. When Sam kissed him this time it was soft, hardly more than a brush of movement. Yeah, even if it did go against all his better judgement, Dean believed him.  
  
“It’s not all bad,” Sam murmured when they broke apart. “Doesn’t have to be all bad.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Okay, so maybe he’s not entirely convinced yet. But Sam being close to him, continuing to rub his thumb across Dean’s jaw, is helping him to get there.  
  
“I would never hurt you,” Sam said. He moved his hands lower, down Dean’s neck and across his chest. “You trust me, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Of course he did. Everybody else is this God forsaken world had let him down, but Sam managed to be constant. Even if he’d fucked up too many times to count, Sam always came through. There was nobody else Dean could count on. This time was no different.  
  
Sam trailed his hands across Dean’s chest, pausing at each nipple and rolling them between his fingers. Dean closed his eyes and leaned back against the sink. Heat grew in Dean’s stomach that made his cock ache beneath his jeans. “Fuck, Sam—”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam leant down and sucked against Dean’s neck, pushing him harder against the porcelain.  
  
“What —  _fuck_  — what do you mean it…it doesn’t have to be all bad?” Dean was struggling to keep still, wanting to rut his cock against Sam. Or, more than that, he wanted Sam to turn him over and fuck him. But he didn’t think that was going to happen just yet.  
  
Sam’s mouth and fingers stopped, and Dean regretted asking. He opened his eyes tried to pull Sam back to him, but Sam stayed stubborn.  
  
“C’mon,” Dean said, offering a smile. “Want you to fuck me, Sammy.”  
  
Sam looked at him, so Dean deliberately trailed his eyes downward. He lingered on the not-so-subtle jut in his jeans and reached out. He was stopped, his arms pressed back against the counter. He knew what it was, and his pulse picked up; that had nothing to do with wanting to be fucked.  
  
“Sam—” He said without meaning to.  
  
Sam’s hands started moving again, rubbing gently against his arms. “You want me to stop? I’ll stop.”  
  
He kept rubbing, callused fingertips a confusing combination of rough and overly smooth as they brushed across Dean’s skin. He couldn’t move his arms, couldn’t move anything except his fingers. He told himself to breathe, and it wasn’t as bad as the first time. He knew now, and kept his eyes trained on Sam’s. They were warm, maybe a little cautious. Nothing like how they they usually appeared when he was pepped up on blood.  
  
“No.” Dean swallowed. “No, it’s okay.”  
  
And it was okay. Mostly. If he didn’t focus on it. It was just like Sam usually was when they fucked. Holding him down, pressing him down. And Dean liked it then. He liked it a  _lot_ then. It wasn’t all that different. Not really.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
Dean realised Sam had stopped touching him and he’d taken a step back. He was looking at Dean with concern etched over his face. But he was still holding him and Dean still couldn’t move. He breathed in, slowly, and out. It wasn’t so bad.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m fine. C’mon.”  
  
Sam stepped back toward him, cautious. Dean could tell that from the way his brother moved, the way his brows creased, everything about him. If he was still chugging demon blood, Dean would know. Sam wasn’t. Dean  _knew_ he wasn’t. Just like he knew everything about Sam now. Ever since this thing between them had started. Two years ago, on that Christmas that shouldn’t have been because Dean was going to die. And he did. But he was back.  _They_ were back. After all the shit that happened over those two years — the shit that was  _still_ happening if he thought too much about it — Dean didn’t want to make more problems. He didn’t want to make things worse than they needed to be.  
  
He had Sam. Couldn’t that just be enough?  
  
“Sam,” Dean said, his voice stable and firm. “It’s okay.”  
  
In the next moment there was so much Sam all over him that Dean couldn’t tell if he was being held back by his brother’s body or his brother’s mind. That was exactly what he wanted. Dean pressed his tongue further into Sam’s mouth, trying to find the traces of blood that might have been there. Nothing.  _Nothing_. Just the taste of Sam, and maybe the faint bitterness of rum soaked eggnog from earlier today.  
  
Sam moved back just enough to yank his shirt over his head and threw it down to join Dean’s on the dingy bathroom floor. Dean would have done it himself, happily, but it was Sam’s mind holding him. Dean let it happen. Held onto the feeling. Let it pump through him like it was Sam and he had found that it was okay. Really okay. Just another chance to be closer to his brother than ever before.  
  
“You sure it’s okay?” Sam asked right into Dean’s mouth. His breath was hot, burning perfectly against Dean’s skin.  
  
“Good,” Dean said, trying to catch his breath between them. “So good, Sammy.”  
  
And it was. Really. Sam pressed against him, his chest on fire, and Dean wondered if it had something to do with the powers. He wanted to press his hands to Sam’s chest, but couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. He shouldn’t keep forgetting. Instead he finds Sam’s mouth again and stays there while he feels Sam’s hands against his stomach trailing lower, lower.  
  
Dean could still manage to move his hips and press up against Sam’s thigh, trying to find some friction. Sam’s hands stopped and took the heat with them.The bathroom felt cold again, the tiles freezing into patches against Dean’s back. Then Sam’s mouth came back. The heat returned.  
  
“Don’t move,” Sam murmured against his throat.  
  
Dean stopped his hips immediately. Letting himself fall back against the counter. Still cold, even with Sam against him.  
  
“We should go into the bedroom,” Dean said, not sure why. They’d fucked in every square inch of every motel room since they started. Nothing was off limits. Dean chalked it up to the bathroom cabinet being made of weird, jagged tiles. He didn’t think having sex against them would go over well.  
  
He could feel the contemplation from Sam as the kisses and licks against Dean’s neck slowed. Then he pulled back while his hands continued to wander. Just as hot as his chest. Yeah, it was definitely the powers.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
It was like a snap when Sam let go. Dean found himself stumbling forward until Sam caught his arms and held him up.  
  
“Don’t ask if I’m okay,” Dean said as soon as he saw Sam’s eyes. “Or so help me  _god_ —”  
  
“You are okay,” Sam said instead. Then gestured behind. “Bed.”  
  
Usually Dean wasn’t up to taking orders from his little brother, but he didn’t mind so much right now. He pushed off the counter, past Sam, and knew his brother would be following only a step behind. Dean turned and dropped to the bed, looking at Sam, waiting to see what he’d do. Dean knew it wouldn’t be anything bad. He believed his brother wasn’t using anymore. He would know by now. The tell-tale signs would have slipped out and Dean would have followed them through and door and away from here. No. Whatever was going to happen, it would be good. Merry Christmas to him — them. Dean smiled.  
  
“Jeans off,” Sam said.  
  
Dean listened. He popped the button and slowly pulled down the teeth of his fly. Small snapping sounds filled the room while Sam continued to stare. Most of Dean wanted to just yank them down and make Sam put his hands on Dean  _now_ , but he also liked to tease. Just a little bit.  
  
“Hurry up,” Sam growled.  
  
“Yes, honey.” Dean smirked and swiped his tongue over his lips. He tugged the zipper just a little faster but then found himself flat against the bed, mind reeling about how he got there. “What—?” He could see Sam looking down at him, and he couldn’t move.  
  
“Told you to hurry up,” Sam said. “Guess I’ll have to do it.”  
  
More of the freaky powers. The bed dipped as Sam got onto it, spreading his legs so they were on either side of Dean’s thighs.  
  
“Let me,” Sam said.  
  
He pulled Dean’s zipper the rest of the way down, then followed with his jeans. Dean was still trapped to the bed. He could move his fingers and squeeze them into the bedspread as Sam lightly brushed his fingers down the length of his cotton-covered cock. The sensation sent jolts through him and Dean wanted to push up but couldn’t. It was strange — really strange — that his mind was trying to do something and his body couldn’t respond. There wasn’t even a feeling to describe it. It wasn’t like a body holding him down, it was just that he couldn’t seem to move.  
  
“See,” Sam murmured. “It can be good.”  
  
Dean couldn’t lift his head up to see exactly what Sam was doing, but he could  _feel_ it. Sam’s skilled hand reaching under the waistband of Dean’s boxers and twisting his wrist just  _there_ so that it sent waves of pleasure up and down Dean’s spine. He didn’t think just a handjob could make him feel like that, but it was something to do with the powers as well. Dean wondered how much Sam had held back before.  
  
“All yours,” Sam said. His voice sounded distant and Dean didn’t know what he meant.  
  
“ _What? — Oh, shit —_ what?” He managed to get out, his voice garbled as Sam moved down his body while his hands stayed on Dean’s cock. His lips made a straight line right down the center of Dean’s chest and stomach.  
  
“Blood, powers,” Sam said. “They’re almost gone.”  
  
Dean still wasn’t sure what exactly Sam was getting at, just that Sam had this perfect mouth and it was tracing over every piece of Dean’s skin. He tried to sit up and managed, just a little. It was like snapping a thick rope. Sam’s mouth stopped. He looked up at Dean, his hands flattened on either side of Dean’s shoulder and face so close his hair brushed against Dean.  
  
“I said don’t move.”  
  
Dean slumped back down, and a moment later Sam was directly above his cock. Dean could feel Sam’s mouth warm and wet hovering over him. Whatever Sam meant, it didn’t matter. And Dean kept himself still. Until he felt something cold against his stomach and jolted with it.  
  
“Shh,” Sam said. A hand came up and pressed against Dean’s chest. Now Dean could feel something, a pressure holding him down. When Sam let go it was gone, but Dean stayed frozen to the bed again. “You carry one of these. You scared it’ll go off?”  
  
It was a gun. Sam was holding a fucking gun against him. Dean couldn’t see it, but he knew it. And he couldn’t move.  
  
“Is that loaded?” he asked, unable to cloud the fear his voice. Maybe he was wrong and Sam  _was_ on the blood, or possessed, or —  
  
“No,” Sam said. Dean heard the gun clatter to the floor. “Just like I’m not.”  
  
“That could be a really dirty joke,” Dean said, trying to grin. His voice wavered; it didn’t really work out so well.  
  
Sam didn’t answer. Instead the heat on Dean’s cock spread as Sam took it into his mouth. Dean’s hands clenched, his fingers twisting into the sheets. That was  _definitely_ the powers. Sam could give some pretty awesome blow jobs, no doubt, but something about the one he was giving right now was so much more intense than what Dean was used to. He almost came after only a few swirls of Sam’s tongue, but Sam pulled off just before it could happen.  
  
When Sam sat up, Dean could see how swollen his lips were and how wide his pupils had become. But not black enough to be a demon. Just Sam, Sam, and more Sam. Human and whole and his brother…and whatever else. Whatever else it was they had between them.  
  
“You gonna fuck me yet?” Dean asked, unable to ignore his aching cock.  
  
A smile skated across Sam’s face. “Pushy bastard. Remember who’s in control here.”  
  
As if to make an emphasis Sam’s palms spread across Dean’s chest again and the pressure of being held down reappeared. It wasn’t like when demons held him to walls. With Sam, Dean could keep breathing easily. It was more like soft rope sliding across his body and again and again, not letting him move but not making him hurt. Sam had a look of concentration on his face that became more and more intense as every second passed.  
  
“It’s going away, isn’t it?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam gave a tight nod. He squeezed his eyes closed and Dean could hear his breathing pick up. “It’s been months.”  
  
“Stop.” Dean’s voice cut through the room and Sam’s eyes flew open, his hand dropping away and the feel of rope disappearing. Dean knew he could move if he wanted to. He didn’t.  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “It’s kinda…interesting.” That sounded weirder than he intended.  
  
Sam seemed to agree with the look he gave Dean. It was all there on his face. Three words:  _What. The. Fuck?_  
  
“No, I mean…” Dean licked his lips and tried to make his brain work with the limited blood flow it was getting. “You’re right — about it being good. So don’t…use it all…just yet.”  
  
A whole range of emotions passed over Sam’s face in the next few seconds. Dean caught confusion, fear, and consideration before Sam finally seemed to settle on something like a mix between amusement and the way he was every time they fucked. That was  _exactly_ the look Dean wanted from his brother.  
  
“So you want me to hold you down while I fuck you?” Sam asked. “Use it all then?”  
  
“Yahtzee.”  
  
There was another moment before Sam moved. He kissed Dean, hard. Mostly tongues and teeth and this time Dean could taste blood. But it was his own and just a few, small flecks from his bottom lip. He could hear Sam flipping open the lid of the lube that they always kept on the bedside table. Never knew when you were gonna get some. Especially considering Sam’s sex drive.  
  
Maybe, Dean considered, if his brother was exhausted enough the powers would ebb away. They seemed to be weaker with every moment that passed. Dean could move his shoulders now, his hips, but chose to keep them still. He wanted this.  
  
When Sam pressed two fingers into him, Dean couldn’t help bucking his hips. Sam hardly seemed to notice. His fingers worked as Dean tried to keep himself from moving. He remembered the feel of Sam’s hand, the pressure of ropes, and focused on that. He stayed on the bed when Sam added a third finger, but couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his mouth.  
  
“Come  _on_ , Sam,” Dean said. They were wasting too much time, they need to find Lucifer and now  _Death_ and — “ _Fuck_ , Sam.”  
  
Sam crooked his fingers and Dean pulled off the bed again. This time Sam seemed to notice and Dean’s hips were thrown back against the bed.  
  
“No patience,” Sam said. He twisted his fingers and Dean couldn’t do anything except curl his fingers and toes. “Alright. Since you asked so nicely.”  
  
The lack of Sam’s fingers made Dean feel empty and he had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. But he knew the empty feeling wouldn’t last long. Sam kissed him, once, much softer than before and with honestly too much tongue, but in the scheme of things-that-are-bad, this one was pretty low down. Especially because Dean was gonna get fucked any second now.  
  
He was still pressed down on the bed and could only see the top half of Sam’s body, but he felt the head of his brother’s cock slowly pushing in. If he could lift his arms, he’d be pulling Sam in at a much harder, quicker rate. But he couldn’t. Not being able to move meant he was aware of everything else. Mostly Sam’s breathing at first. It became shorter and shorter as he pushed further and further in. Sam’s hands pressed into Dean’s shoulders and now it was both his mind and body holding Dean.  
  
Just like it should be.  
  
Sam pressed all the way into him and let out a low groan. His hands dug harder into Dean’s arms and the feeling of being held down was back. Sam on top of him, against him. Body, powers, whatever it was. Dean could already feel himself so close and Sam started speeding up, cock hitting Dean perfectly every single time.  
  
“ _Sam_ —” Dean said. He tried to arch up but still couldn’t. Now Sam’s holding him down with his mind was starting to feel stronger, tighter against his chest. But not bad. Never bad. “ _Fuck_ —”  
  
When he came, the ropes snapped again and he pulledl his legs up, wrapping them around Sam’s thighs until his brother made the moan-grunt-groan sound that Dean had ingrained in his mind that told him Sam was coming. He stayed in Dean for a few more minutes, just looking at him. Dean experimentally started moving his hands, his arms, wiggled his hips a little while Sam gave him a strange look and slowly pulled out and flopped down beside him. Dean looked at Sam from the corner of his eye.  
  
“You think it’s gone?” Dean asked. He was still breathing hard, and the words came out within jabs of breath. He didn’t need to define what ‘it’ was. Dean knew Sam was already aware.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Dunno. But, if it’s not, guess we can just do this again, and again, and again.”  
  
Dean couldn’t hide the snort he let out. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess we can.”  
  
Sam was smiling and staring at the ceiling. His eyes looked far away, and Dean decided he liked that look. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah. Merry Christmas, Sammy.”


End file.
